


No Guarantees

by Graziaaa



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Human Experimentation, I Tried, M/M, Poor Life Choices, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-02-29 22:32:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18787579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graziaaa/pseuds/Graziaaa
Summary: “Darling, you’re crazy,” He states giddy.“I-I…” Bruce begins to oppose.“Oh Brucie, no one in their right mind seeks out someone like me.”





	1. Prologue

_ Stumbling and falling he moves forward not knowing if he’s making any progress. The world is blurry, and nothing fits together. He’s stumbling in a haze of motion. His vision is too foggy to distinguish where he is or what his environment looks like but there’s lights and a coldness that digs at his skin.  _

_ He can’t think. _

_ He can’t see. _

_ He can’t feel. _

_ It’s hilarious. Giggles bubble from him. _

_ The sound is odd and seems as if its origin is somewhere else; from someone else.  _

_ He’s a backseat driver in his own body. _

_ It makes him laugh harder. He pushes something in front of him and abruptly he’s hit with coldness icier than where he came from. He feels as if he is swimming and flying all at the same time. He trips and falls to the ground; it’s hard and painful. He laughs harder. Though he can’t see clearly, he knows that he’s facing the sky. The sky. The sky. The sky. Little blobs of light dot it. They’re pretty. He looks at them from the ground for a timeless amount of time. He doesn’t know how long he stares at the pretty dots, but his blinking makes it hard. God, he’s tired. He giggles again and pushes himself up. The building behind him is badbadbadbadbadbad and he needs to leave before it gets him.  _

_ He stumbles forward not knowing if he’s making any progress. The world is blurry, and nothing fits together. He’s stumbling in a haze of motion away from the bad building towards different lights in the distance. Towards more. _


	2. Surprise!

When Bruce first sees him, it doesn’t register. There are too many that look like him here; a place where Bruce shouldn’t be. The MANIAX club is not a place where Bruce belongs and yet, he is here surrounded by so many different types of crazy and he’s thriving.  
Bruce has to double take for his brain to comprehend that Jerome is here.

  
The Jerome that is supposed to be very dead. Like no pulse six feet underground dead.

  
Yet, Bruce knows that it’s him even surrounded by his copycats. Anger bubbles in his veins.

  
Before he can comprehend it, he’s moving toward him, his feet heavy, pushing through the mosh of people jumping and swinging in the lights.  
The anger he feels is all consuming and he forgets where he is or why he’s here in the first place. He’s not even facing him as he storms over which only makes him madder. He’s supposed to be DEAD; Bruce watched him DIE. Now here he is living and breathing as if he’s rubbing it in his face; which Bruce knows is stupid. He knows, but right as the lights blind him and people bump into him he doesn’t care.

  
He’s a meter away and as if Jerome can feel the pure anger pulsing off him he turns and stares straight into his eyes. Then he starts laughing and skips towards him.

  
“Brucie, Brucie, Bruce. Now what’s a nice place like this doing in a guy like you?” He slurs.

  
He’s drunk. He’s drunk? Bruce is fuming. How dare he? How dare he?  
Bruce doesn’t think and punches him in the face. Jerome seems surprised for a split second before bursting into laughter.

  
“Now, now is that any way to treat an old friend?”

  
Friend? Friend? Is he kidding?

  
“I’m not your friend.” Bruce growls out.

  
Blood is running out of his nose as he giggles “Eh, I suppose you're right.”

  
Then Jerome punches him. Its abrupt and it hits Bruce square in the jaw. Jerome doesn’t stop laughing. It’s infuriating. Bruce lays down a couple punches on Jerome. People have moved away forming a circle around them.

  
“Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fight. Fightfightfightfightfight.”

  
Jerome lets out a laugh that makes his skin crawl. Bruce practically growls. They circle each other. There is nowhere for either of them to go. Bruce rolls his shoulders. Jerome pulls a knife out of his pocket and flicks it open. Bruce doesn’t even blink; It’s not surprising, the last time they were near each other Jerome had a knife against his throat so why wouldn’t Jerome bring it into this fight. It’s almost as if he’s saying ‘Hey remember when I could put a little pressure against your throat and you would squirm? When you were utterly helpless against me? Remember that Brucie?’ They are both waiting for the other to break and lash out; to make the first move.

  
A gun fires behind Jerome and everyone becomes quiet and turns. Slowly a figure makes their way through the crowd and into their circle.  
Jeri.

  
“Ah, Bruce. I see you’ve met our special guest.”

  
“He’s supposed to be dead.” Bruce spits out.

  
“Yes, funny how the world works.” She says as if it totally normal for someone to rise from the dead.

  
“Now, now, this is surprising.” Jerome speaks in a tone that is both dramatic and terrifying, “How does billionaire Wayne know our lovely Jeri? What sort of holes are you digging up Brucie?”  
Bruce glares at him.

  
“Kiddo I haven’t seen ya around here in a while. I almost missed having to stop you from getting yourself in bad places.” Jeri comments with her hands on her hips.

  
“He’s a regular? Oh, Brucie, Brucie, Brucie. What does your poor butler think?” Jerome pauses and watches Bruce, “Unless he doesn’t know.” Bruce’s eyes snap to Jerome’s.  
“Oh dear, maybe I should give him a visit, break the bad news.”

  
Next thing anyone knows Bruce has punched him again. Jerome cracks up and wipes the river of blood with his hand. Jeri has started laughing; at him or Jerome he doesn’t know. No one cares.

  
Jerome launches forward with his knife up, ready to strike him down. Bruce reacts automatically; the training Alfred had taught him kicking in. He grabs the knife blade and punches Jerome in the chest leaving him breathless. Blood runs down his hand; he’s wounded. It’s nothing serious but it’ll take a while to heal and will be a pain to hide but he's hidden worse. He’s taken the knife now; it’s in his hands and the weight of it reminds him of what he could do. Jerome’s laughing again. He’s insane.

  
He looks at Jeri as if she’s supposed to say something or stop them. She doesn’t but she has a knowing smile on her face. Bruce looks down at the knife in his hands and the blood dripping onto the floor. Jesus, what is he doing? He needs to stop before this gets bad. He isn’t supposed to even be here. What’ll happen is he kills Jerome? Or severely injures him? What if it’s him that gets hurt? Is he supposed to call the police and take chances that they won’t call Alfred? There isn’t a way he can go through with this without suffering consequences. It will mean he can never return here. He can’t risk that. It’s as if Jeri knows what he’s thinking before he thinks it. Bruce walks past Jerome, whose hands are on his knees trying to laugh off the winded feeling he has, and straight to Jeri. She has her hand out and Bruce put the knife into her hand. She pats him on the shoulder.

  
“You should head home kiddo I’m sure that caretaker of yours will not want to see your hand like that.”

  
“No, I don’t think he will. Thank you, Jeri.”

  
“Nah, don’t thank me I didn’t actually do anything.”

  
“But you knew.”

  
“But I knew.”

  
“Hold up Brucie, we only just started.” Jerome calls after him.

  
Bruce doesn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think, I would love to hear your thoughts!  
> This is is currently a work in progress, I have multiple chapters written but I am no where near completion. I thought I would post the prologue and the first chapter to see what people thought.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s Jerome. It’s always Jerome. He saw his broadcast earlier, it was horrifying as per usual. Especially considering the large haunting smile he has painted on; with what Bruce hopes is makeup. It concerns him that he’s become immune to the destruction and violence in this city. At first all Bruce could think was ‘it’s his fault, it’s his fault, it’s his fault’ a constant mantra repeating in his head reminding him that  _ he  _ didn’t tell anyone about Jerome's revival, that  _ he  _ didn’t do anything about preventing him from doing something bad. 

Then the power went out.

He forced himself to separate his mind from the situation. To purposefully remove himself to quell the unsettling feeling of guilt in his stomach. 

But unfortunately for him Jerome has a quirk of being a fucking pain in the ass.

“My, my, it seems I did come to visit.”

Bruce’s stomach flips. The sense of impending doom whispers in the back of his head. Jerome starts giggling and waves his hands. Bruce can’t take his eyes off the red smile on Jerome’s face. 

Jerome’s goons begin to take the manor apart, taking joy in the carnage. Bruce and Alfred remain on the floor watching the destruction take place around them.

Jerome turns away facing the fire, watching it as if it draws him in.

“Are you okay?” Bruce asks. It’s a question that answers itself.

“I’ll be fine Master Bruce,” Alfred replies, “I’ll be fine.”

There’s a pause, it’s as if the world is letting them take a breath before they get plunged into ice water.

“Nice place you’ve got here.” Jerome starts, “You rent?”

Bruce almost screams but puts on a neutral face, “What do you want?”

Jerome’s eyes catch his, he stills, flashes of their fight burn in his head. The atmosphere is different, but Bruce can’t place why. Honestly, he expected Jerome to blurt out to Alfred about their encounter in the club, but he hasn’t. It puts him on edge,  _ is he enjoying the fact that he could break the news any time he wants? _

“Attitude,” Jerome lets out grumbling before turning towards Alfred, “Teenagers am I right?”

Jerome lets out a ‘Ha’ in response to Alfred’s silence before turning back to Bruce.

“You know Jeri, she’s a lovely gal wouldn’t you say?” Jerome asks. Bruce stills and doesn’t respond.

“She took me in when I woke up, you know. But less about me, she said you’re quite the partier.” He continues. Alfred turns and looks at him questions and urgency in his eyes. Bruce can’t breathe.

“I would love to witness rich boy Bruce Wayne dancing with the low-lives of Gotham, you know, without a fight as a result.” _What_ _? _

“Unfortunately, you left without finishing our fight.” He finishes. 

Bruce hears the question he’s supposed to ask before he asks it, “What are you doing here Jerome?”

“The reason I’m here is I’m going to kill you.” Jerome says in the most threatening, terrifying voice Bruce has heard. His face turned blank in the middle of talking; it made his hair stand on end.

Bruce blinks and gets up from the floor.

“Why?” He whispers.

“Well, it’s the last thing I remember wanting to do. You know before Theo,” Jerome waves his hands in circles. It’s obvious what he’s talking about.

“It’s been nagging at me since I woke up.” Jerome finishes taking out his knife,  _ the knife _ , and flips it open, “The idea of slitting that pretty, pink throat of yours. Figured that’d clear the decks. What do you think, huh?”

Jerome slowly moves closer to him, knife pointed. Alfred says something and goes to get up. Bruce couldn’t tell you what he said, his focus is on his haunting smile 

The ruffling of people moving, and the sounds of guns yanks him into saying something.

“I remember that night.” He starts rushing the words out of his mouth, “When you took over the benefit.”

Jerome looks curious, Bruce notices the slight tilt of his head.

“You were quite the showman.” Bruce comments something akin to a smirk or a smile on his face.

“Thank you,” Jerome draws out seeming pleased, “Nice to be appreciated.”

Bruce starts talking before Jerome can finish, “And you’re just going to kill me here?”

Jerome is close enough that Bruce can  _ feel  _ his presence, the knife is pointed straight at his chest. Jerome looks as if he’s waiting for something more.

“It’s kind of disappointing.” Bruce comments realising its truth as well as a means of buying time.

Jerome sticks his tongue between his teeth and dramatically pulls the knife away. He somehow gets closer to him, their eyes stares into each other’s; they are both waiting for the other to break and lash out; to make the first move. Jerome’s smile is burned into Bruce’s memory, the bright red haunting smile. Abruptly Jerome curves backwards and moves away from him.

“Ah, what do you mean?” Jerome lets out. He says it in a casual way that is odd given the situation but somehow doesn’t feel out of place.

“After all the build-up. You coming back to life, turning off the lights in Gotham. Killing me here just doesn’t show a lot of...” Bruce rambles out, he’s practically saying anything that comes to his head.

Jerome looks at him expectantly, there’s a beat of silence before Jerome cuts in.

“Flair? Hmm?” He jumps onto the couch, it’s almost funny in a childish way, “Style?” He kicks a something off the couch and into something on the other side of the room that breaks.

“Panache?” He throws his hands in the air, “Go on, boy. Spit it out, I can take it.”

Bruce breathes, “I’m Bruce Wayne.”

Jerome jumps down, his eyes focused on him, “I’m aware.”

“I am the ruling elite.” Bruce continues.

Jerome moves forwards the knife trails against his neck; the top of his turtleneck.

“My company is the machine that keeps the cogs of Gotham running.” A bubble of energy fills inside him, its either fear or adrenalin he can’t tell.

“Wow,” Jerome lets out sarcastically.

“Killing me should mean something!” Bruce rants angry, “And you’re telling me no-one is going to see it?”

Jerome has made his way full circle and is standing in front of him. A smile forms on his face.

“Are you saying I need an audience?” Jerome says in the same tone that’s casual and genuine and not out of place. The looks on his face is the same and Bruce feels himself being drawn in. He looks nice. Until he doesn’t. 

“Oh,” Jerome speaks grabbing the back of his neck and drawing the knife close to Bruce’s neck, “Look I know you’re just trying to buy time, so you can escape.”

Bruce can feel Jerome’s breath on his cheek. Smell the scent of something so uniquely Jerome it makes Bruce feel like he’s invading boundaries that he never knew existed. He can feel his body heat. Bruce doesn’t dare move but he could lean in and touch him if he wanted. _Does he want that?_ That would be bad. Bruce’s mind is racing, and the words Jerome is saying barely register.

“But your point is still valid.” Jerome ends patting his shoulders.  _ What point was that again? _

“Saddle up boys!” Jerome says loud enough to make Bruce resist the urge to jump, “We’re taking this show on the road.”

Alfred stands up as Jerome’s goons move away.

“And I know just the spot.” Jerome concludes moving back to Bruce.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Jerome tuts turning to Alfred and putting his finger up as if scolding a child, “Not you old chap.” He continues in a terrible accent.

“The prince of Gotham deserves a public death.” Jerome starts to justify waving the knife yet again against Bruce’s throat, “His butler, not so much. Kill him.”

“No!” Bruce automatically opposes launching towards Alfred.

“Bruce!” Alfred scolds setting a hand against his chest. It’s obvious what Alfred’s doing, he searches for confirmation in his eyes.

“This is what you’ve been training for.” Alfred states as if everything was going to be fine and dandy, “You’re gonna be alright on your own.”

He’s accepted it. He’s gone and accepted that he’s just leaving him. It makes Bruce both angry and incredibly sad.

“I will see you again.” He lets out determined opposing his acceptance.

“You carry on son. You carry on.” Alfred shakes his head.

Jerome is behind him, Bruce can feel it but he’s still taking in Alfred trying to put it in his memory.

Jerome grabs his ear pulling him with him. 

“Strangely intimate,” He comments. He’s behind him leading him towards the door.

Jerome points the knife towards the couch, “Try not to get any blood on the couch. I might come back for that.”

Then they’re moving through the manor, further and further away from Alfred.

Jerome leans forward and whisper in his ears.

“Here comes the fun part.”

Bruce shivers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me your thought! PLEASE!


End file.
